This is Where You Find Me
by divergentfan4life
Summary: Four's fear landscape was the first place where he showed himself to Tris - but what were his thoughts? All characters/dialogue belongs to Veronica Roth. One-shot does not include the kiss at the chasm - sorry!


**Hey y'all! So I know I haven't posted in AGES and I'm not going to spew a bunch of excuses (lame) so instead I'm going to upload new stuff like this! I love the Divergent series (but especially Four/Tobias, let's be honest), and I wrote this a really long time ago. Four is a really interesting character to explore because he's not forthright with his emotions, but he loves deeply and has this crazy-strong protective instinct. Also I wrote this before the wonderful Veronica Roth published the Four short stories, which includes this scene, and it was super interesting to compare my version to hers... Hope you like it! :)**

 **This is Where You Find Me**

My dreams gave me no solace from the twisted reality I live every day. This wasn't uncommon; I can't remember a time at which my dreams actually served as an escape. But usually, my nightly dose of knockout drugs kept Marcus and my nightmares at bay.

Tonight was different; tonight I was dreaming of her.

I slipped out of my bed soundlessly and slid my feet into a pair of sneakers by the door. No one would notice if I was gone, and if anyone did, they wouldn't think anything of it; the Dauntless knew no curfew.

As I shut my door behind me, the last thing I saw were the words "Fear God Alone".

 _Yeah right,_ I thought, scanning the hall. _It should say_ _'Fear God Alone, and whatever else plagues your nightmares.' Then again, the Dauntless aren't exactly Candor._

The corridors were empty, illuminated only by intermittent lamps that emanate soft bluish-white light. Gooseflesh pricked at my bare arms; in my haste to leave my room, I had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt.

I neared the chasm, and stiffened.

Whispers ricocheted off of the high glass ceiling, punctuated by the unmistakable dry exhale of paper being ripped. The voices were almost completely shrouded by the constant roar of the chasm, but I was close enough to make out snips of conversation.

"Have you ever met her?" a voice, female and serious, asked. _Tris._

"Jeanine? Once," answered a second voice, this one masculine and unmistakably laced with the arrogant tones that could have only belonged to an ex-Erudite like Will.

A wave of water crashed over the rocks of the chasm, guarding their conversation from my ears. I stepped closer, keeping to the far wall as I wound my way up the staircase. Automatically, I trained my eyes on the step in front of my feet, feeling the now-familiar dread tugging heavily in the pit of my stomach. As a Dauntless, facing the stairs fearlessly should have been second nature to me by now. But I was not that brave.

"Are you sure you should be running around here alone at night?" Another voice floated up, bubbly and undeniably Christina.

"I won't be alone." Tris answered, her voice unwavering, steady. "I'll be with Four."

I almost miss the next step. Her unwavering trust in me should fill me with new levels of wary uncertainty. I shouldn't even allow her to follow me, let alone accompany me on what is to follow. But all I felt was a wave of panic laced with excitement.

Her footsteps were light, almost guilty behind me as she jogged up the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible. Gradually, her breathing became more and more labored, but she tried to control her breathlessness. I almost smiled as I pictured her small face set in determination, a faint blush of exercise spread across her cheeks.

I reached the glass room at the top of the stairs and took 2 black boxes from the cabinet; I took the first syringe out of its box and picked up the second.

Tris stepped into the room, her steps almost silent, and her breaths escaping her body in short gasps. She didn't say a word.

I didn't turn around to face her. "Since you're here," I said, my grip tightening on the syringe in my left hand, "you might as well go in with me."

Her breathlessness paused, and I could almost envision her biting her lip in hesitation. "Into your fear landscape?"

"Yes." It was not a question.

Her boots echoed lightly against the floor as she walked toward me. "I can do that?" she asked, her voice belying her feather-light steps. She sounded so much older than her slight build would suggest.

"The serum connects you to the program," I explained in a low voice, "but the program determines whose landscape you go through. And right now, it's set to put us through mine."

Her footsteps stopped next to me. "You would let me see that?"

I stiffened. "Why else do you think I'm going in?" I asked her, fighting to keep my voice steady and quiet. I couldn't look at her. "There are some things I want to show you."

I held up the syringe, and Tris immediately tilted her head to better expose her neck. Blond hair fell over her shoulder in a glossy cascade, and I swallowed hard to avoid the urge to tangle my fingers in that hair and pull her close until there was nothing between us. When the syringe was empty, I offered her the second black box.

She took the syringe out of the box with tentative, unsure hands. "I've never done this before," she said, a small, nervous smile flitting across her lips. Her eyes flashed with uncertainty, and worry.

"Right here," I told her, tapping a spot on the side of my neck with my fingernail.

I watched Tris's purposeful movements as she positioned her small hands around the syringe and stood on her tiptoes as she carefully injected the serum into my bloodstream, bracing herself with one hand on my shoulder. A familiar pain jolted my through my body, but I don't even flinch. The pain was nothing compared to the adrenaline coursing through my heart.

When she was done, I took both syringes and placed them in the black boxes, setting them by the door. No one would take any notice of the boxes if they did decide to come up here; midnight fear-facing is no new occurrence for the Dauntless.

Without really realizing what I did, I offered her my hand. Unhesitatingly, she slid her fingers into the spaces between mine. I knew my fingers must be cold, my palm clammy, but Tris didn't even seem to notice. She gripped my hand tightly as I opened the door with my free hand. We stepped into the dark room; Tris's breaths were even by my side, the firm grip of her hand around mine unfailing.

As we waited for my fear landscape to claim us, I shut the door behind us. "See if you can figure out why they call me Four," I whispered to her, her hair tickling my jaw.

There is no light or warmth in this hallway we find ourselves in. Tris shivered slightly and inched closer to me; our arms brushed each other, and my shoulder was mere millimeters away from her jaw.

"What's your real name?" she asked, her voice low, unsure.

"See if you can figure that out too." It was not the time for answers.

She didn't press me for a response, didn't try to make sense of my crypticism.

Gradually, the ground changed from solid, reliable cement to rusting metal. The city spread itself like a table around us, the familiar skyline stark and still against the shockingly blue, cloudless sky. A breath caught in Tris's throat, and I felt a similar choking sensation in my own lungs. I turned to look at her; her face was filled with awe. My feelings, however are far from similar.

Wind whipped through our hair, beating a stiff, chill-induced blush into our cheeks. The gales nearly blew Tris off of her feet, forcing her to lean into me in order to avoid losing her balance. I felt my lungs shriveling in my chest like twin raisins, and I can barely feel breath passing through my nostrils.

Numbed to the core with petrifying fear, I slipped my hand out of Tris's and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, feeling her muscular, lithe frame underneath me. I tried to focus on my breathing instead of on the height, but it didn't work. My teeth ground together as strangled breaths forced their way out of my mouth.

"We have to jump off, right?" Tris shouted over the wind.

I nodded, my throat to dry for words.

Her small face was alight with determination and exhilaration. "On three, okay?"

I nodded again, mute with terror.

I could have sworn I saw her almost smiling at my fear. _How can she be having fun with this?_

She started counting before my panic-frozen brain had time to register what was happening. "One…two… _three_!" She pulled me with her as she broke into a sprint. My body, rigid with fear, numbly followed as two steps turned into five, and then we were weightless, dropping like stones, clefting the air into two halves as we fell. My heart beat a frantic tattoo against my ribcage, my lungs swelling like two balloons on the verge of breaking.

My hands slammed into something solid, and my momentum pulled the rest of my body to the side, breaking my fall with my shoulder.

Then everything was still, blessedly still.

Next to me, Tris was on her hands and knees, grinning maniacally.

A laugh at her glee turned into a gasp. I pressed a hand to my heart, trying to remember how to breathe again.

She got up, twining her hand with mine to help me to my feet. "What's next?"

Dread prickled up and down my spine like fingers of needles as I realized that this nightmare was far from over. "It's–"

A wall appeared out of nowhere behind Tris, slamming against her back and sending her stumbling into me, her head ricocheting off my collarbone. Instinctively, I tried to back away, my heart beating its frantic rhythm as walls appeared to my left and my right, forcing me to pull my arms to my chest to fit. My eyes squeezed shut as I groaned, hunching over as a ceiling slammed into place above us with a sharp crack. Tris was pressed against my body, clinging tighter than my shirt; this room was big enough to only accommodate a person of my size, no one else.

"Confinement." Her voice was as calm and level as always, completely antonymous with my labored breathing.

A guttural noise, like a dying animal, filled my ears, and I realized with a sense of detached distaste that it is coming from me. Tris pulled her head back to look at me; it was dark in this confined space, but I could still make out her clear gray eyes, the only constant amid the muddled confusion of my fear.

I grimaced as memories hit me one by one like the punches I received in my initiation: unrelenting and agonizing. Amazingly, I would have rather endured the blows than be assaulted with my nightmarish childhood.

"Hey," Tris said, her voice soothing. "It's okay. Here–"

She guided my arms around her skinny frame in an effort to give me more room. Desperately grateful, I clutched at her back, putting my face next to hers, feeling our breaths mingling. She was incredibly tiny underneath me, all bones, all muscle. But the details flitted past my brain before I could fully grasp them; my fear overshadowed everything else.

"This is the first time I'm happy I'm so small," she said, a forced laugh in her voice. She's trying to distract me. Or calm me down. Regardless, her generosity made me want to smile.

But I couldn't; my jaw was clenched so tightly, I felt my face going numb. "Mmhmm," I managed, my strained voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

"We can't break out of here," Tris noted. "It's easier to face the fear head on, right?" I couldn't have responded even if I wanted to, and she didn't wait for me to provide an answer. "So what you need to do is make the space smaller. Make it worse so it gets better. Right?"

"Yes." The single syllable was all I can make out. The familiar symptoms had all but consumed me: the tight lungs, the lack of breath, the wired muscles taut with adrenaline.

"Okay. We'll have to crouch, then. Ready?"

Her hands found my waist, and she pulled me down with her. As more space was made, the wall pressed in tighter around us. Tris had one hand pressed beneath my ribcage, the other behind her to brace herself. Suddenly, as if realizing that there is too much nonexistent space between us, she twisted and curled into a ball so that her spine was pressed to my chest, her body fitting easily between my knees.

The space impossibly became even smaller, and my breathing grew raggedly harsh. We were nothing but a mangled jumble of limbs and bone and sinew. "Ah," I ground out from between gritted teeth, my voice raspy. "This is worse. This is definitely…"

"Shh," Tris cut me off. "Arms around me."

I didn't object as I slipped both arms around her, noticing in a detached way how perfectly she fit against my body. She was warm and strong and unwavering under me, but I could feel nervous adrenaline that matched mine pulsing underneath her veins that belied her seemingly steady façade.

"The simulation measures your fear response," Tris told me softly, in an attempt to soothe me. "So if you calm your heartbeat down, it will move on to the next one. Remember? So try to forget that we're here."

"Yeah?" Her hair tickled my lips as I whispered in her ear. Warmth radiated off of her cheeks as she flushed. "That easy, huh?"

"You know, most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl," she commented, the fraying patience in her voice being quickly replaced by the sarcasm that suited her better.

"Not claustrophobic people, Tris!" I said desperately, almost pleading with her to understand. This was nothing for her; it was everything for me.

"Okay, okay." Her hand found mine, and she guided it to her chest, right above her heart. A flush rose to my own cheeks as I felt nothing but muscle and unyielding bone under my hand. "Feel my heartbeat. Can you feel it?"

A pulsing, racing rhythm pounded under my palm. "Yes."

"Feel you steady it is?"

If my face hadn't been so tense, I would have smiled. "It's fast."

Her heart sped up underneath my hand "Yes, well, that has nothing to do with the box." Her words hung in the air, and I could almost feel her wince as we both realize she just admitted to something. "Every time you feel me breathe, you breathe," she told me, changing the topic. "Focus on that."

"Okay."

Tris breathed deeply, and I tried to follow suit, biting my lip to quell my bubbling panic. I can't control myself, I can't control anything.

Seconds pass.

"Why don't you tell me where this fear comes from?" Tris asked, out of the blue. "Maybe talking about it will help us…somehow."

Her voice was calm, but I could tell she didn't know what she was talking about.

"Um…okay." I breathed with her again to steady my thoughts. "This one is from my fantastic childhood. Childhood punishment. The tiny closet upstairs." I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the memories.

Tris was silent as she searched for a response. I know she didn't know what to say; her parents never used such severe punishments. Then again, her parents weren't Marcus. "My mother kept our winter coats in our closet," she said finally, trying for casualty.

Bile rose in my throat, filling my lungs. "I don't…" my words were choked by a gasp. "I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay." She was silent for a moment. "Then… I can talk. Ask me something."

"Okay." I laughed shakily, out of pure panic. Then I asked her the one question that's been branded to my brain since we got in this infernal box. "Why is your heart racing, Tris?"

I could feel her cringe.

"Well, I…" She searched for words, obviously struck blindsided. "I barely know you." The words must have sounded unconvincing to her, because she added, "I barely know you and I'm crammed up against you in a box, Four, what do you think?"

I smiled because I know she's lying. "If I were in your fear landscape," I asked, feeling my fear start to recede, "would I be in it?"

"I'm not afraid of you." Her response was immediate.

"Of course not. But that's not what I meant." I laughed again, and this time, the walls fall away with a crack, leaving the two of our tangled bodies in a circle of light.

I sighed and detangled my arms from her body as gracefully as I could, feeling suddenly bare and hollow without Tris's now-familiar weight pressed against my body.

Tris scrambled to her feet, her small hands brushing self-consciously at her clothes. She wiped her hands on her jeans and shivered involuntarily in the air, which was suddenly cold due to the lack of closeness.

I stood in front of her, grinning partly from relief and partly from the now-vivid memories of what occurred just seconds ago. Tris's eyes flashed nervously.

"Maybe you were cut out for Candor," I told her, smirking, "because you're a terrible liar."

She rolled her eyes, hooking her thumbs in her belt loops. "I think my aptitude test ruled that one out pretty well."

I shook my head, remembering the skewed results of my own aptitude test. "The aptitude test tells you nothing."

Her eyes narrowed and I could see her brain turning over my words. "What are you trying to tell me? Your test isn't the reason you ended up Dauntless?" Her small face lit up with excitement; she thought I am Divergent, like her. If only she knew.

"Not exactly, no," I said slowly. "I…" A bullet clicked into the chamber of a gun behind me, and I looked over my shoulder, already knowing what I was going to see, my hands tensing into fists by my sides as icy sweat broke out on my forehead.

A woman stood a few yards away from us, her gun pointed straight at my chest. She didn't move a muscle; even her plain-featured face was as still as a calm body of water on a windless day. To my right stood a table, on which lay a gun and a single bullet. At the sight of the weapons, my jaw tightened, every muscle in my body turning rigid.

"You have to kill her," Tris said softly beside me.

"Every single time." I stared at the woman, transfixed by her unseeing eyes.

"She isn't real," Tris reminded me.

"She looks real." My voice was small, like a child's. "It feels real."

"If she was real she would have killed you already." Tris's voice was detached; calm.

"It's okay." I nodded, trying to convince myself as much as Tris. "I'll just…do it. This one's not…not so bad. Not as much panic involved." _But way more dread._

Tris watched me intently as I picked up the gun and systematically opened the chamber and clicked the bullet inside. Her eyes never left my face as I held the gun with both hands, as far away from my body as I can. I squeezed one eye shut as I trained the barrel on her forehead and inhaled slowly.

I fired as I exhaled, watching with mute horror as the woman's head snapped back, a streak of red on her face. Tris looked away, but I stared, stupefied, as the woman crumpled to the floor.

The gun in my hand clattered to the ground.

Tris stared at the fallen body, and I could see the shock in her eyes. It was as real to her as it was to me. She blinked, then shook herself as if waking up, and grabbed my arm.

"C'mon," she said, tugging me forward. "Let's go. Keep moving."

I barely heard her; in my daze, all I could hear is the fire of the gun, the thud of impact.

Tris tugged at me again, breaking my stupor.

I followed her.

As soon as we passed the table, the woman disappeared, as does the blood, except in my memory and in Tris's.

I wondered what she's thinking.

She never lets her thoughts show. But I wanted to know: wanted to see if she pitied me, admired me, or maybe even liked me.

I shook my head and follow her. _No chance._

The hallway narrowed, and darkness deepened, save for a circle of light in the center of the room. My hand tensed in hers. "Here we go," I whispered.

Something shifted in the darkness, a broad, muscular figure. _Marcus._ I shrank back, feeling like a child again; Tris leaned forward onto her toes, curiosity and defensive expectation burning bright in her eyes.

Marcus stepped into the light.

Tris's eyes locked on his face, taking in the tall, muscular frame, the short, dark hair, the gray Abnegation clothes.

"Marcus," she whispered. I remembered then that she knows him; as an Abnegation leader, her father probably worked with mine.

"Here's the part," I said, swallowing hard to steady my shaking voice, "where you figure out my name."

"Is he…"

Marcus advanced on me, and with every step that brought him closer, I backed away.

Tris looked from Marcus back to me, and I could see her piecing everything together: Marcus, me, Abnegation, Dauntless. Her eyes lit up with understanding, then darkened as she realized the implications.

"Tobias."

Marcus stepped closer, bringing his hands from behind his back. I shrank back as I saw the belt that curled around one of his fists. Slowly, methodically, he unwound it from his between his fingers.

"This is for your own good," he told me, his menacing voice echoing eerily. A dozen of his likenesses stepped into the light, all wearing the same cold, blank expression, all gripping belts. I was frozen with fear; I couldn't move, I couldn't run, I couldn't even think.

Tris looked at me, reading my fear, my defeat, my helplessness. But I couldn't look at her; my eyes were fixed on Marcus.

He reared his arm back, the belt hissing over his shoulder as he set me in his sights. His eyes were cold and dark and empty, as unfeeling as ever. With the wall at my back and nowhere to go, I covered my face with my arms in a weak attempt to protect myself and waited for the thud of leather against skin, the jolt of pain, the crack of the belt.

It didn't come.

Without warning, Tris was there in front of me, between me and my father. The belt cracked as it wrapped against her wrist. Her face twisted in pain, but she gritted her teeth and pulled as hard as she could, ripping the belt from Marcus' hand. She grabbed it by the buckle, and swung it at Marcus, striking his shoulder. He yelled, and lunged for her with outstretched hands.

Suddenly, my fear was gone, replaced by a burning hatred that consumed me with anger. I pushed Tris behind me so that I was the one protecting her from my demonic father. I clenched my hands into fists, ready to fight my father to keep Tris safe.

But there was no need.

Marcus vanished, as did the darkness.

The light returned, revealing the long, narrow room with decrepit brick walls and a stained cement floor that we began in.

"That's it?" Tris asked, confused. "Those were your worst fears? Why do you only have four…" Her voice trailed off as she mentally completed her own sentence.

"Oh." She looked back at me, her eyes understanding. "That's why they call you–"

I stared at her in awe as she stared at me. I had never showed myself to anyone this way: so vulnerable, so exposed, so utterly open to the world. But Tris was not just anyone. In this room where she had seen my true self, I could see her beautiful, selfless, brave spirit with even more clarity. And I realized that I love her.

Acting on their own accord, my hands wrapped around her elbows, my thumbs skimming the soft, smooth skin of her forearms as I tugged her closer to me. At first, she was stiff in my arms, resisting my touch in that Abnegation way as I pressed her closer, my lips moving against her cheek, my face in her neck, my breath ricocheting off of her collarbone.

Then she relented, letting her Abnegation instincts fall to the floor as she looped her arms around my waist, pulling me close.

She sighed heavily, relaxing against me. "Hey," she said softly. "We got through it."

I lifted my head back to look at her, twining my fingers in a stray lock of her hair and pushing it behind her ear. I stared at her face, that lovely, perfect face, as I absently fingered her hair, my hand lingering by her ear. "You got me through it," I said finally, realizing that I have been staring at her too long.

"Well." She flushed, looking down at the floor, her boots, anywhere but my face. Her eyes locked back on mine, her gaze intent. "It's easy to be brave when they're not my fears."

Tris let her hands drop, trying to be casual when she wiped them on her jeans.

When she was done, I laced my fingers with hers.

"Come on," I told her, giving a soft smile. "I have something else to show you."

 **Please review! This is my first Divergent fanfic and I could use some advice! :)**


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